


Fear and Memories

by autumnesquirrel



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnesquirrel/pseuds/autumnesquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers, and then he forgets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Some memories of a non-con situation.

He does not start to feel afraid until well past coming upstairs. Not until after they are both naked on the bed. Not until Hawke has coated them both in oil, touching, and kissing, and praising him. Not until Hawke starts to tell him how close he is to coming, thrusting up and against him, begging him to come first.

He does not start to feel afraid until he realizes that this is nothing like anything Danarius ever did to him. Nothing like Tevinter at all. It is already a thousand times better than anything he's ever known, all pleasure, and pressure, and want. Hawke under him, clinging, and kissing, holding them together in one hand, the other hand gripping up and down his back, gasping every time he thrusts down.

And then Hawke starts to beg, "Fenris, Maker, please come, please, I want to see, please, Maker, fuck, please." And, he remembers, Danarius over him, thrusting down, telling him, "Look at me Little Wolf. Watch. This is for you. I know you want to come. I know. But you can't. Not unless I let you. Not unless I tell you you can. And I won't. I can't let you. It's too dangerous. But, look how you undo me. Take pleasure in this. Watch. Watch." He remembers the come warm between them, and Danarius heavy on top of him, face open and pleased.

Danarius repeated the warning again later, talking about him to some other Magister; that he pleasures Fenris, but cannot let him come, and so has built a block into Fenris that only he can release. "Of course, that means I can let Hadrianna play with him as well if she likes," Danarius had explained, "No one other than his Master can let him go, and I know what a mess of the ritual it would make, how badly it would break him. Still, I think she enjoys him plenty as he is." They had laughed, and he had said nothing, blank faced, standing guard.

He doesn't start to feel afraid until Hawke starts to beg, and he knows there is no right answer. Either, he will come, and, if Danarius was telling the truth, it will break him, or he will be unable to, and Hawke will be hurt, and he will be forced to explain how broken he already is. How weak he is. How far from normal.

Hawke is under him, hand curled around his shoulder blade, face pressed into his neck, "Please Fenris, Andraste's, fuck, please, it's ok, it's ok, just let go, trust me, trust me, just, come, I'm here, it's safe, give in, I've got you, please."

And he does. He trusts Hawke with his life. He trust Hawke and he lets go. The world sheers white. Every muscle clenches tight, suffused with fire, and pleasure, and then lets go. He sobs, once, Hawke thrusts forward once, twice, tenses and groans, and goes limp too, his hands falling, finally, to his side.

Something is not right. Everything seems slow, and he can barely move. Hawke stirs, rolls them carefully to the side so Fenris slides partially off of him and down onto the mattress, turns to kiss him gently on the lips, and then rolls the other way and out of bed. Fenris watches him, head too heavy to turn, eyelids almost too heavy to keep open, as he finds a cloth, water, and then returns to wipe them both off.

Once clean Hawke crawls back into bed, wraps himself around Fenris, along his side, and whispers, "sleep" into his ear. He let's himself sink into the fog.

He remembers, and then he forgets.

He remembers coming, the sweet pleasure of it, someone else groaning, "Leto, Maker." He thinks he opens his eyes. He remembers waking, faces, a small girl laughing, "Leto, Leto, look!" His mother hugging him, the girl again, his sister, clinging to his mother's other side. He remembers sore muscles and a swell of pride. The dream changes, shifts, he sinks further in, remembers pain, and fear, and hunger. His sister again, "Leto, please, you cannot do this. What if they kill you? What will we do?" Tears, determination, someone standing behind him holding him tight; a lover perhaps. He closes his eyes.

His sister is calling his name. "Leto! Leto! Wake up! Wake up!" He rises up to full consciousness, eyes still closed, and he forgets.

There was a dream, and he remembered, his family, his name, and even the memory of the memory is quickly fading away. He tries to go back to sleep and cannot. He tries to remember, and finds only ashes, and memories from now. He thinks "sister" and recalls Bethany's face, thinks "mother" and sees Leandra. He cannot hold still.

He dresses slowly, layering his armor back on. Each piece takes him further away from the person he has slowly been becoming. He settles the sword onto his back, and closes his eyes. He is the sword; a weapon, and nothing more.

He remembers how it felt to finally let go, how good it was. It can never happen again.

He hopes Hawke will understand. He will have to. He knows to have his memories ripped from him a third time would destroy him. He cannot live thorough it again.

He opens his eyes, lifts his hand to grip the mantel, and stands staring into the fire, thinking, and waits for dawn.


End file.
